


Beyond Doubt

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon - Book, Cuddling for warmth leads to more..., F/M, Feelings, First Time, Fluff, One Shot, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Romance, Sexual Content, They are in touch with their emotions and use their words - yay!, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29329215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: “Surely, we do not need all this between us.”  Her voice was hoarse, a seductive purr, possessing Brienne from a netherworld which hid beneath her smallclothes.  The most salacious of fantasies beginning to feel very corporeal when Jaime responded with outstretched arms, muscular physique pulling her into an embrace when she offered.  “I can give you warmth as well.”~~~~~~Doubt has always plagued Brienne’s head, so when all signs point to Jaime Lannister possessing romantic feelings for her, she cannot help but be dubious.  However, when he enters her tent in the Hour of the Wolf and cuddles up for warmth, she gives her heart and desires permission to win out for the night.  Knowing that in the morning the questions will return and require answers…
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 20
Kudos: 95





	Beyond Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I can’t believe it is February already – time is flying! 😊 
> 
> I am posting my Valentine’s Day offering early, as the 14th is my birthday and last year I ended up running late putting my fluffy fic on. 
> 
> This is an odd little tale, where my tendencies to wax poetic went into overdrive, LOL. Therefore ahead lies versions of them which are quite attuned to their own feelings and far more vocal about it than in general. I blame a combination of Shakespeare and [Ophelia by Steven Price](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNlglIE6-4M). I have included a link if anyone wants to give it a listen, because it is 100% what inspired me to write this story (and I love the track). 
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! <3

“Why are you here Ser Jaime?” Brienne’s voice reached a shrill octave previously unknown. Doubt creeping in from all sides like tendrils of fog, curling its fingers through the cracks of the tent and seeping into her heart. Emotion crushing her windpipe until her usually low tones squeaked painfully.

Jaime’s arms fell defeatedly to his sides, wounded posture exuding rejection. Making her even more certain she must be misinterpreting his gestures.

_For the alternative is unimaginable._

“You have a beautiful golden sister, sitting upon a Southron throne…waiting for you to return. She is the one you have always stood beside, who you broke the laws of nature and men for, whom you proclaimed to love. I don't know what game you are playing with me, tossing and catching my heart whilst I wait for it to be dropped and shatter upon the floor. I know you do so love to tease, but I beg you to stop. Cease this charade. Surely, we respect each other enough by now to dispense with cruelty for your amusement…”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
  


It was all too much. The way Jaime persisted. How he followed her, complying to her every whim without argument. Docile, agreeable, endearing. Inching closer day by day.

From separate tables to the same bench, his intoxicating proximity making her head swim. Bold was he, forward and familiar. Sneaking morsels from her trencher, teaching her to do the same, evening up the score by pilfering one for one.

Then even her personal space was lost to his unfathomable campaign. Untouched skin set on fire by his contact. Thumbing treacle from her sticky bottom lip over dessert, depositing the drop on his own tongue. Green eyes sparkling when he savoured the taste, even though the same syrup dripped from his own spoon in much larger portions. As if the difference which made one flavour preferable to the other was _her_.

But it was impossible. She was hideous. He had said so often enough himself. And his twin – his lover - was the epitome. The doppelganger of his own image who could fulfil desires in a man, a naïve woman such as Brienne would never dream of.  
  
  
Then in the night, Jaime had moved in his sleeping furs. The hard ground of her tent somehow superior to his own - not ten feet to the right. Her flimsy fabric walls more effective at filtering out the winter gales…even though his pavilion was sturdier, comprised of thicker, substantial drapery.

The room in her tent was only designed for one and she was large, well and truly occupying the makeshift dwelling. But there he was, shuffling her painstakingly over inch by inch, until their cocooned bodies pressed up against each other. Him waffling on in her ear about ‘body heat’ and how it was ‘cosier’ whilst she tensed and prayed for morning.  
  
Not for wish of his departure - but for fear of her own desperate wants.

The wanton needs her body cried out for when she felt his tantalising nearness. Unconsciously wriggling closer, into his radiant aura. Wanting to absorb him like sunlight, let him fill her.... take him inside.

She had never felt like this about a man - about anyone. Overcome with a yearning for invasion instead of distance. With a divide between them she could ignore it but in these close confines it was all consuming. And she was certain; entirely one-sided.  
  
  


Even so, Brienne knew darkness made all maidens fair. It did not discriminate, painting all in the same obscuring colour of shadow, a blanket disguising her homeliness.

Yes – it was the cover of night that had made her bold. Loosening her tongue and laces.

Better judgement silenced by rampaging need and the lingering sensation of his touch upon her lip. His inferno making her shed layers as if a balmy summer's day. Throwing aside the furs which separated them.

  
“Surely, we do not need all this between us.” Her voice was hoarse, a seductive purr, possessing Brienne from a netherworld which hid beneath her smallclothes. The most salacious of fantasies beginning to feel very corporeal when Jaime responded with outstretched arms, muscular physique pulling her into an embrace when she offered. “I can give you warmth as well.”  
  
  
  
Her limbs snaked around his buttocks and shoulders, moving like they were born to this purpose, providing a shelter for Jaime in the cradle of her thighs. Sloppy kisses becoming more refined, learning by example as he nipped and guided. Her sighs into his mouth intensifying when he demonstrated the art of his tongue.

Rationale and forethought were disposable wisdoms when such ecstasy existed. But logic remained her unshakeable companion, lurking to remind her how each move he made was both her first and last experience of his sensuality.

Regardless, she swallowed each kiss like a beggar gifted a feast. Determined to appreciate every mouthful. Knowing tomorrow would bring an end to her supply but enjoying, nonetheless.

Sheathed within her he was oneness. Not Jaime and Brienne but just - _them_. A being without single gender for they joined completely.

Oh, how she adored it. There was pain… but what was worthwhile that did not ache? And how it gloriously throbbed, for with each thrust he was hers.

_Hers._ Even if just for this fleeting, beautiful interlude. But still, it was a gift he gave to her. Letting her hold him within her centre, taking him as her own.

Forevermore she could know that they relished each other for a night. That they were connected.

Brienne’s body hummed, buzzing with touches which ranged from feather light to bruising strength. One moment, his fingers gently caressed her breasts, charging her nipples until they too sung; the next they were digging into the meat and muscle of her thighs as he wildly thrust into her. Taking chase together, in hot pursuit of a prize she’d never seen.

Trusting in Jaime, his lead, Brienne barrelled blindly towards their quarry, knowing somehow - she wanted it. Ignoring the cautions of that pesky logic which said beyond their coupling lay only finality and risk.

Thundering heartbeats drowned out the warning bells, the pleasure and adrenaline rushing in her blood taking precedence over every other thing in existence.

Whatever treasure awaited at the end of this rigorous hunt was worth the costs; maiden’s blood, demolished heart and disgrace. Wherever the undisclosed destination, she yearned to reach it, to go there with Jaime.

With him. Always with him. Only him.

  
  
When she arrived, the place appeared like starbursts behind her eyelids. As if all seven heavens opened their gates at once, revealing paradise beyond.

It looked like gorgeous emerald eyes locked with hers and sounded like Jaime's lips saying her name.

Perhaps she was crying his name as well, calling him to join her in this unequivocal bliss. Wanting him to feel it too, to share in the wonder, their hearts to beat in tandem.

This was love - it had to be - and Brienne was drunk upon it.

How could anyone be this close to someone and not covet them completely? See them as individuals ever again when together they had been so whole?

  
“I love you, Jaime Lannister.” She was breathless, ribcage heaving. Small breasts rising and falling with the tempo. “I love you with a passion. A passion which will never subside.”  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  


Maiden no more, Brienne woke to the bleak greyness of the morn. Extracting herself from blood stained bedding to the distinct sound of flesh as their bodies were peeled apart. Perspiration long dried, clamminess replaced with cold.

The gelid air bit at her nipples when they were exposed from beneath the blanket. The small red marks left by his enthusiastic mouth, reminders of what had been, prompting her pursed lips to droop downwards at the corners.

Sighing quietly, she pulled her tunic over her head.

A dishevelled lion stirred beside her, raising a single paw to her spine. Brienne chanced a glance back at him, the single boon she would grant herself, locking the image in her mind before reality reshaped the scenario.

He was as superb in morning light as he was in the dim of night. His green eyes bright but drowsy, golden mane askew from sleep and sex. Brienne could still feel the sensation of carding those blonde curls through her fingers, and she hoped the phantom threads lingered for years to come.

For this one encounter must sustain her, memories taking the place of hopeful dreams. Where once longing was the affliction - now it was resignation. She had partaken of her ultimate desire but now the fall back down to earth was crushing.  
  
  


“You're quiet.” Jaime observed, irritatingly cheerful when she was splintering. “But I suppose that's not unusual.”

“Get dressed.” Brienne tossed his breeches at him a tad harder than she intended.

_Perhaps if I affect detachment my heart will be fooled into believing it is true._

_  
  
_

He wrinkled his brow in confusion, left hand unravelling the article. “Are you angry with me?”

“I’m fine.”

“You seem in a hurry to see me out...” Jaime wriggled into the garment beneath the blankets.

“It's late.” _What else can I say?_ Brienne collected her clothes, squirming into breeches of her own. Ignoring the crimson streaks upon her pale thighs.

Despite her best efforts to conceal them, Jaime noticed. Eagle-eyed and perceptive, homing in upon the evidence of what they’d done in the hour of the wolf. The bulge in his throat constricting as he swallowed and frowned. “Have I become something you rue?”

  
Tears stung the rims of her eyes, trapped by self-restraint and shreds of pride.

_Far from it. The only thing I lament is that it’s over._

“It's complex.” Brienne looked him square in the eyes, and despite best efforts they betrayed her, disclosing more than she intended in their heavy blue.

“Wench...” Jaime was up from the furs in an instant, muscular arms reaching for her as if she were the maiden fair and not the mannish grotesque.

“Do not.” She raised a large hand blocking his advance, her palm coming to rest in the centre of his chest from his forward momentum. Beneath she felt the hammer of his heart, its pace quickening against his ribs.

“Brienne...” There it was again. That expression, his softness. The type of sincerity that made knee's buckle and dim witted, ugly swordswomen misconstrue.

“... Will you answer me in more than two words?"

Somehow, he managed to appear stricken. Arms reaching around her blockade, still seeking to hold her.

“Let me…” Jaime pleaded and the weight behind his words echoed of her own struggle. Of fear of loss and unrequited emotion. Befuddling her mind and confusing her already addled heart.

That was when she erupted, first hearing that strange, strangled rendition of her own voice. Asking questions which had been circling her brain for weeks, searching for clarification and beseeching him for clemency.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
“I know what I am…” Brienne continued. Her statement was not intended to conjure pity, only to impart her awareness and make him understand. Letting him know that delusion had not replaced dysphoria. Freeing him from any fear that misapprehensions may have snuck beneath her skin, the romantically fanciful notions that less practical women entertained when they lay beneath the object of their affections.

“…And I know the many reasons why my sentiments are not reciprocated.” She gulped, recalling her euphoric confessions which flouted her current claims. “I can only beg pardon for the wayward nature of my tongue last night. Take ownership of my heedless outpouring of sentimentality. But you too must concede your part in all of this – for you do confound me, leading my logical heart astray with your actions.”

_It is true, it was his touches that brought me to this precipice. His attentions which made me entertain notions of a mutual regard. And as much as it pains me, it has to stop. For my clouded psyche can no longer differentiate illusion from actuality._

“So, I must ask you to desist for the good of the tenuous hold I have over my own emotions. Please.” She implored, hoping her earnestness would reach him.

“Physically I may resemble an ox, but the defences surrounding my heart are as paper thin as a butterfly’s wings. Maybe the gods gave me this hulking frame to shield its fragility or to discourage trifling of this nature, knowing I am determined in my affections and could not bear to be strung along.” Brienne hated being this exposed, but Jaime had seen it all now laid bare.

_My body, my virtue, my love...._

“I will be fine if you do not toy with me. I thank you for last night and maybe in time we can place aside the awkwardness and guard each other's backs again. Return to being comrades at arms…”

  
“And if that's not what I want?” His octave was quiet as he tried to step closer. “What if my desire is to be _in_ your arms?” Jaime gestured at her long limb, held stiff between them like a barrier. “Not to be kept at arm’s length.”

She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief of his persistence, his conviction in the charade. “Too much Jaime. It's too much.” Her voice quavered. “Why are you doing this?”

The tears threatened more than ever, catching in her lashes and blurring the edges of her vision. Framing him in the mist of her despair and hope. “You do not want me Ser. Not romantically. Not as I want you.” Brienne sniffled. “Just as I know the winter is cold, or the tides will alter with the pull of the moon. I know I do not – cannot - possess your heart.”  
  
  


“But you do.” He said it so plainly, it could easily be mistaken as authentic.

Her head pivoted left and right, hair fanning as she disagreed with stubborn vehemence. “I doubt that very much Ser Jaime.”

“Well don’t.” Ever so carefully, he covered her hand with his, prising her arm from its rigid position, her firm muscles quivering from nerves and the release of the tension.

With purposeful, reverent fingers he turned her palm to face upwards, tracing the lines and freckles, raising her wrist to his lips. The quintessential suitor in every great romance, the white knight enraptured by his lady love.

Deliberately slowly, he pressed his warm mouth to the veins and pale skin. Discovering and awakening a sensitive part of her body, conveying an intimacy Brienne never knew she needed until this moment. Her own lips parting slightly in surprise, letting out a rush of air.

“My Lady, my Brienne…” Jaime began, voice reverberating over her flesh and raising gooseflesh of anticipation.

“Distrust…that the dead rise against us.

That a shadow slew a sovereign,

That Lady Catelyn walked as a wraith,

Or that the Red Priests foresee events yet to come in flame…”

Turning her hand back over, he gripped her digits with his own, rubbing his thumb over her fingers. The bare stump of his right arm lifted up until it fit into her palm, supporting her quaking hand.

  
  
“Question the straps of your vambraces,

The tilt of your saddle,

The grip on a sword,

The visibility behind your visor…”

Jaime stooped, leaning down into an almost bow, delivering lingering kisses upon each knuckle between his phrases.

  
  
“And be sceptical of the men who shower you in hollow flatteries,

Too quick to offer their hand without first aiming for your heart.

Misgivings in these instances, are wise self-protection - and I will be the first to encourage your caution, to rush to your defence with my words and sword…if you’ll have me.”

He bent his forehead to the back of her hand in worship, his potent exhale skimming over her skin. An unasked question simmering beneath his posture.

“Now and then, you may ponder my reasons,

Think us insane or convince yourself I’ve lost my wits,

Ruminate over how we came to be,

Or mull over how such a deep connection can exist…”

Smouldering emeralds gazed up at her then. Infused with an emotion so palpable she felt it straight in her heart.

“…But never, _ever_ doubt I love you.”

A shy smile crept over Brienne’s face as she bit her lip, finally believing. “And if I were to say I am convinced?”

Jaime smirked, simultaneously cocksure and timid. “Then next I would have to persuade you to accept my proposal.”


End file.
